


A Ship of Good Fortune

by Tainted_Kattitina



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Assassin's Creed III, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M, Post-Assassin's Creed: Rogue, Shay returns to the colonies, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-13 11:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tainted_Kattitina/pseuds/Tainted_Kattitina
Summary: Where-in Shay makes it back to New York before Haytham and Connor set sail for Church, changing the path that they had all been on.





	1. In the dead of night

**Author's Note:**

> A/N I know Rogue came out after III, but the fact that Shay had four years to appear and save Haytham annoys me. Also, liberties will be taken with the games (and related material) and with history.

Despite Connor’s words after they had pulled themselves from the water, it was Haytham left standing on the pier waiting for his son. It was an undesirable situation. Not just waiting when there seemed to be so much to do, but also trusting his son to complete the task to his satisfaction.

“Why, as I live and breathe,” Haytham turned towards the familiar voice, “Grand Master Kenway!” It was Shay Cormac, sauntering down the pier in his bright red enforcer coat with gold trim. Even in the dark he stood out without the use of Haytham’s second sight.

“Captain Cormac,” Haytham nodded as the younger man came to stand before him. Shay had aged – they both had – but his hair was as dark as ever and his face had only a few wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and framing his mouth. The years had been good to the captain. Much kinder than his own years had been. “I had not heard word of your return. I trust the matter that took you away has been resolved?”

“Aye, sir. Found it in Paris and placed it where no Assassin or Templar can find it again." Shay said, grinning, eyes bright. A weight that Haytham had been carrying for nearly two decades disappeared from his shoulders. If Shay said the box was out of human reach, Haytham trusted it was so.

Haytham nodded in approval. With the manuscript out of reach the world will be a safer place, though there were still other Precursor items that would need to be found and hidden. But that would be a matter for another time, when this war was over and Connor was no longer killing his subordinates.

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what are you doing standing out here in late January?” Shay asked, looking around at the empty pier.

“I am waiting on my son. Benjamin Church has seen fit to betray the Templar Order. My son and I are in pursuit.” And the boy was going to get an earful for making him wait in this dreadful cold.

“Your son?” Shay asked, raising an eyebrow.

Haytham cast a look around, and found Connor approaching. “Tell me Captain, do you have any pressing matters to take care of here in New York?” There was still a chance to regain some control of the situation as a whole.

“No, sir. I take you you’d like use of the _Morrigan_?” Truly, Shay was a gift being able to perceive Haytham’s request with barely a word. Haytham gave a slight nod.

“Father,” Connor said, having finally approached. “Are you ready?”

“Ah, Connor, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Haytham said, gesturing at Shay. “This is Captain Shay Cormac. Captain, this is my son Connor, the Assassin.” Both men shot Haytham questioning glances. Shay, likely for the fact that Connor was an assassin, and one Haytham was willingly associating with for an indeterminate time period. Connor, for Haytham having revealed his ties to a secret organization.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Shay said, holding out his hand for Connor to shake. Connor shifted but made no move to return the gesture. Shay put his hand down. “Guess I know something you got from your old man.”

Shay ignored the glare Haytham sent him for the quip.

“If we are to catch Church we need to make haste.” Connor said. If Shay took offence to being ignored he did not show it.

“Actually Connor, while we were waiting for your arrival, Captain Cormac has graciously offered us the use of his vessel to track down Church and his associates.” Haytham felt a smug sense of satisfaction at seeing Connor clench his jaw at the news.

“I left to inform the _Aquila_ to expect us. They are ready to go.” Connor protested. As if Haytham would be swayed by the words.

“And without even needing to say a word the _Morrigan_ will be ready for us now. Besides, I trust Shay’s sailing and navigation skills more than yours.” It might have been pushing a little hard, Haytham was sure that Connor would exceed in sailing as he had in every other task he put his mind too. But Shay was a variable that Haytham was familiar with, one who would follow orders with little question.

“'Side’s,” Shay said, drawing the attention of both men towards him, “My _Morrigan’s_ the fastest vessel in these waters. We’ll be on Church before you know it.”

Connor clenched his jaw again but slumped his shoulders in defeat. “Fine.”

Really, did the boy have to be so difficult?

“Wonderful. Captain Cormac,” Haytham said taking a step back and sweeping an arm forward. “After you.”

  
The _Morrigan_ , to Connor, didn’t seem to be any better of a ship than the _Aquila_. It was a smaller ship for sure, with only one row of cannons, and a little smaller bow to aft though it had a long ice ram under the wolf figurehead. The sailors were doing last minute prep, having jumped to work at the sight of their captain. In his eagle sight, they were gray and indistinct, unlike the two men he followed who glowed gold. Connor allowed his father and Captain Cormac to board first, making small not of the easy familiarity Haytham had with the vessel and the captain.

Once they were both on deck, leaving Connor on the gangplank, he called out to them, remembering the lessons in sailing etiquette Faulkner had given him. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Captain Cormac turned and nodded at Connor. “Permission granted. Welcome aboard.” The captain said before turning and continuing on to the helm where a man in a long coat and a wide brim hat had watched the proceedings.

“Captain’s at the Helm!” The first mate called. He moved to stand to the port side of the captain while Haytham took a position mirroring him on the starboard side.

“First order of business, Tomas you are to disembark and let the _Aquila_ know her services won’t be needed.” The captain said, looking at one of the older sailors. “Then I want you to enjoy your wife here in New York.” The man looked pleased as the rest of the sailors cheered and clapped him on the back as he disembarked. “The rest of you lot, look sharp and release the sails.”

“You heard the Captain, let’s get some wind in these sails.” The first mate called. Once both men were satisfied at the ships speed and direction the first mate moved to clasp Haytham’s hand in greeting, though the contact was brief. “Master Kenway, ‘tis good to see you again.”

“Indeed, Master Gist. I heard rumors that you passed in ’59 due to smallpox.” Haytham responded with a small smirk.

Shay and Gist laughed at that, though Connor could not tell what was so funny about the comment other than Gist still clearly being alive.

“And you lad?” Gist said, turning towards Connor who had moved only to stand on the stairs leading to the Quarterdeck. “Come here and introduce yourself.”

Connor made his way over but Haytham was already speaking. “This, Master Gist, is my son, Connor.” Connor faulted in his step a little. That was thrice now that Haytham had claimed Connor as his son in less than a day. “Connor, this is Christopher Gist, a frontiersman and a friend of George Washington.”

“How is old George?” Gist asked. “I hear he’s the one leading this little revolution.”

“Supplies his troops need were stolen by Benjamin Church.” Connor said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Connor and I have agreed to a truce while we apprehend Church, as in this our goals are a lined.” Haytham said, his hands once more clasped behind his back. “We’ve discovered that he is sailing towards Martinique.”

“Ah, the Caribbean. That’ll be a change, wont it Gist?” Captain Cormac asked. “Perhaps if we have time afterwards we might spend a night or two in Havana.” He looked towards Haytham. “If that’s alright with you, Grand Master.”

Though the sea was calm, Connor felt as if there had been a swell rolling the deck under his feet. “This is a Templar vessel?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N So according to Wikipedia Gist should have died before they reached the North Atlantic chasing after Liam and Achilles. Also, I’ve chosen to go with Quarterdeck though I am sure Poop deck would have also been the appropriate term. You’re welcome. 
> 
> If you see any glaring errors in grammar, spelling, or terminology please let me know. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed and I hope I'll be back soon.


	2. Making Headway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Morrigan heads down the coast some conversations go better than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Incoherent screaming into the abyss.* So much going on. Cross referencing all the time. Doing all the cross referencing. If a line sounds familiar I stole it from somewhere else in the game series. 
> 
> Also, using this site for my main point of reference: http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/Timeline

“Gist, take the wheel.  I think the three of us need to have a talk in my cabin.”  Shay said, releasing the wheel and stepping back so his first mate could take up his post.  The two Kenway men were staring at each other.  At least it appeared like the boy was staring at his father, chin up in defiance even as the white assassin hood covered his eyes.  The boy’s hand rested on the hatchet hanging from his belt.

Neither made a move. 

“If you gentleman please, my men have work to do.”  Shay said, motioning towards the stairs down to the main deck. 

Haytham did not move, still standing with his back straight and chin also raised.  “What will you do, boy?  Jump and swim back to shore when we are already miles from New York?”  He asked, his tone sharp and words clipped.

A beat, then two.  Connor released the tension in his muscles, moving his hand off the hatchet and lowering his chin.  “Fine.  Lead the way.”

Satisfied with that, Haytham turned and lead the way to Shay’s cabin, Connor following, leaving Shay to bring up the rear.  As he closed the door to his cabin he could hear Gist calling to the men.

“Get back to work you lot, nothing to see here.”

Inside the cabin Haytham has already crossed to the large desk in the back by Shay’s bed, not quite leaning up against the solid wood but near enough to it.  His hands, in his usual fashion, clasped behind him, his face cast in shadow by the low light and his hat.  Connor stood in the corner between the door and the table where Shay had the model Morrigan.  

They stand in silence save for the creaking of wood, the sound of waves crashing against the hull of the ship, and the movement of the crew above.  Shay takes a spot on the starboard side of the cabin, leaning against a post that marks the divide between the personal and professional parts of the cabin.  It is far enough from the boy that he won’t feel cornered in the small space and provides Shay an opportunity to physically intervene if necessary.

“I heard about you in Paris, Connor.”  Shay said.  Both turned their heads towards Shay.  “You’re causing quite the stir in Europe taking out most of the colonial rite.” 

“And I’ve not heard of you.”  The boy responded.

“What, Achilles doesn’t speak of his greatest failure?”  Shay asked.

At the same time Haytham spoke up.  “Captain Cormac hasn’t been in the colonies for some years now.”

Connor looked between the two of them, though where his eyes landed Shay could not tell with his hood up.  “Neither of you are speaking sense.”

Shay motioned towards Haytham with both his hands.  “Grand Master?”

Haytham nodded in acknowledgement though did not turn to look at Shay.  “Captain Cormac has been out of the colonies since 1760, chasing down items known as Precursor Artifacts, remnants of a lost civilization.  He is the Colonial Rite’s foremost expert on these items.”

Connor scoffed, “Not hours ago you said your men were to give up these Precursor sites, and yet now you show me proof of your lies.”

“I’m not lying to you Connor. . .” Haytham said, calmly, though he was interrupted.

“You expect me to believe that Charles Lee was not acting on your orders to find the site when one of your men has spent years on a similar task?”  Connor asked, stepping forward and gesturing to the cabin with both hands.  His movement were certain and powerful, but also restrained. 

“Yes, dammit!”  Haytham shouted, stepping forward as well.  “Because I already know where the Precursor site your tribe protects is, and it is useless to the Templar Order!”

“How?  How do you know where it is?”

“Your mother showed it to me after the Braddock Expedition.”  Haytham said, lowering his voice again. 

“I will hear no more of these lies.”  Connor said, and left the cabin, head down, shoulders drawn up tight, and fists clenched at his sides.

Both Templars let him go without another word.  The moment the door closed behind Connor, Haytham released a sigh, raising his hands to rub at his temples. 

“He’s a spirited one, your son.”  Shay said, moving closer to his grand master. 

“He is stubborn, obstinate, and incapable of listening to reason.”  Haytham said, dropping his hands so they would rest at his sides, once more looking unaffected by past events.  “But he shows great strength, courage, and conviction.  He is truly Ziio’s son.”

“If I might, sir, he’s not that different from you.  I’m sure in time he’ll be able to see reason.”

“If he can see it at all, it will not be me who shows him.”  Haytham said, moving towards Shay’s mannequin.  Shay followed.  It held the red and black outfit that the Finnegan’s had gifted him nearly twenty-two years ago.  “I regret I only met Colonel Monro once before his passing.  He had a way of inspiring you men to reach their full potential.”  Haytham glanced at Shay from the corner of his eye.  “You have certainly been a boon to the order, and to me.” 

“Perhaps when this business with Church is over I might speak with your son and share some of the Colonel’s wisdom with him.”  Shay said as Haytham walked behind the large desk and started arranging it to his satisfaction.  “Show him the difference between the Creed and the Order’s Principles are not so different.”

Haytham hummed in satisfaction before pulling out the chair to sit upon and his journal from his coat, settling in.  “The idea has merit, though I see no reason to delay that long.  Perhaps your unique situation might be enough to persuade him to our cause.”

“I’ll start in the morning then, sir.”  Shay said, going to the doors of the cabin.  He paused before opening them.  “Do you wish to share the cabin with him, or shall I have him berth with Gist for the journey?”

“I believe we’ve seen what happens when the two of use are confined it close quarters.  Best have him share with Gist for now, if you don’t mind Captain.  I’m sure they’ll have much to talk about.”

 

 

The crew as in the midst of “What do you do with a drunken sailor” when Connor emerged from the cabin, feeling the tension leave his body as he breathed in the familiar scents of the ocean.  In the gloom of the starlight and lanterns Connor could make out the shapes of the men as they went about their work.

What Connor really wanted to do was join them men in ensuring the ropes were sturdy and the canons were clean, to climb the mast and look as far as his eyes could see.  But he did not want to disturb the work the men were doing or get in their way.  Instead, Connor turned to the stairs and climbed back up the stairs to the Quarterdeck.

“Young Master Kenway!”  Gist jovially called, seeing Connor on the stairs.  “Tell me, do you have any experience sailing?”

“I do,” Connor said, approaching the first mate.  “Just Connor is fine, Master Gist.”

“Master Connor then,” Gist said, nodding and making a slight adjustment to the wheel.  “How would you care for a turn at the helm?”

“I would not want to overstep my bounds with Captain Cormac.” 

“So long as you don’t run her aground or take us off course I’m sure the captain won’t mind.  We are aligned in our goals currently, are we not?”  Gist asked, taking a step back from the wheel in offer.

Reluctantly, Connor stepped forward, taking the wheel from Gist.  “She’s a beautiful ship.”

“Captain’s favorite even with all the vessels he acquired during the Seven Years War, though she can’t travel across the oceans, small as she is.”  Gist said, pride evident in his voice.  “He was pleased to see I’ve kept her in good shape during the years he was in Europe.”

“You did not go with him?”

“I, ah, had a different task to take care of.  Kept me a bit closer to the colonies.  Though I am glad the Captain came back last March as these old bones aren’t what they used to be.”  Gist said, laughing a little. 

“You speak as if you know the captain well.”

“Well enough, I suppose.”  Gist said, stroking his bead with one hand.  “We both worked under Colonel George Monro in the Templar Order, though Shay wasn’t inducted until after the good Colonel’s death.  There was no finer a man or Templar and it’s a shame you could not have met him.”

“I have met many Templars, I have liked none of them.”

Gist let out a full belly laugh.  “I’ll admit that members of Master Kenway’s Rite have left much to be desired, being picked off by one lone assassin such as yourself.” 

“You speak of Johnson, Pitcairn, and Hickey.”

“Aye, and soon to be Church on that list as well.  Why, soon enough I image you’ll have Lee in your sight as well!”

“Charles Lee is a monster, but so long as the truce with my father holds I will not attack him.  But tell me, you are not mad that I have killed so many members of your order?”

Gist crossed his arms and started into the horizon for a few moments before answering.  “I can’t say I’m happy about it, particularly Johnson, but I can’t hold it against you.  Shay killed some of my fellow Templars before we met, and we get along wonderfully.” 

“Ay, but that was a different time then.  Unlike Connor here, I was no longer an Assassin by the time we met.”  Captain Cormac said, making his way up the stairs to the helm. 

Connor dropped the wheel and moved away from it, allowing Captain Cormac to take it up and make a slight adjustment to the course.  At the same time, Connor clenched his jaw tight to prevent any loose words to spill forth, though it burned his tongue to do so.

“Master Gist, I imagine it’s been a trying day for our guest.”  Cormac said, eyes on the horizon, “perhaps you could show him to your quarters so he might get some rest.”

“A fine idea, captain!”  Gist said, clapping a hand on Connor’s shoulder.  He raised it quickly at Connor’s flinch.  “Come lad, there’ll be plenty to do in the morning.” 

Head filled with thoughts and questions, Connor followed Gist down below without another word.  Later, alone in the cabin, it was only the sway of the hammock and the ship that allowed Connor to find enough peace to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the hits, kudos, and comments I got last time! I hope you continue to enjoy this. Or if you want to tell me I keep switching tenses that's okay too!
> 
> As I was trying to remember what Shay's cabin looked like I found this site: http://www.imfdb.org/wiki/Assassin%27s_Creed_Rogue Please just read the captions for the screenshots because they are close to gold.
> 
> Feel free to come scream at me over on my tumblr, kattitina.tumblr.com


	3. Truth is a story to tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets info dumped on. It goes alright.

Haytham is in the middle of showing Shay where his Virginia estate is located on a map when Connor quietly slips through the door, drawing the gaze of both men. Unlike Shay who is without his coat, or Haytham who is only in boots, trousers, and undershirt, Connor is fully dressed and armed. No doubt under his assassin robes lies full armor. Shay gives Connor a quick look with the second sight, pleased to see the Assassin has not become an enemy over night. 

“Is that enough of a heading for you, Captain?” Haytham asked, standing upright and going to the bed where the rest of his attire lay at the foot of the freshly made bed.

Shay nodded, rolling up the map of Virginia they had been looking at. “Ay, should be good enough. I’ll let Master Gist know after he’s had some rest.” Shay turned, nodding to Connor. “Master Connor, Gist told me you had a steady hand at the wheel yesterday. If you’ve no objects I’ll have you take a turn or two at the helm.”

Connor shifted, clearly uncertain about the favor Shay was showing him. Or maybe he had expected to be put to manual labor.

“Unless you’d rather swab the decks.” Haytham snarked, putting on the finishing touches of his outfit. “I’m sure that Captain Cormac will be more than happy to let you work for your passage.”

“Oh, so I must work for my passage while you sit inside all day?” Connor asked, leaning against a wall and crossing his arms.

“I will be financing this voyage.”

“Don’t mind the Grand Master,” Shay interrupted, sensing Connor’s rising temper. “He’s no head for sailing and will be useless unless there is a boarding battle.” There was a scoff from Haytham as Shay turned to look at Connor. “No doubt Achilles had you trained in sailing, even if he could not train you himself.”

“You were an Assassin under Achilles then?” Connor asked, angling his body towards Shay.

“Ay, practically a lifetime ago.” Shay said, moving around the table and to the door. “Come, let us talk about it outside where we can relieve Gist of his duties so he may sleep.”

“How do I know you will not tell me any lies?” Connor asked, following Shay out of cabin. “That this is not an elaborate plot thought up by you and my father to sway me to the Templar cause?”

“Captain’s at the helm!” Gist called, a cheer from the crew answering him back.

“Thank you, Master Gist, you’re relieved of your duties for now.” Shay said, taking the wheel from his first mate. Gist tipped his hat in thanks and wondered down into the belly of the ship. “As for your questions, I suppose you’ll just have to wait until you can ask Achilles about what I tell you.”

Connor shifted, placing one hand on the rails that separated the deck from the drop below, but did not speak.

“At the height of Achilles's Brotherhood, he had four Master Assassins. Kesegowaase, a Wolastoqiyik man who taught the recruits about hunting, tracking, and free running. Hope Jensen, a poison’s expert and ring leader of the gangs in New York and the River Valley who taught recruits how to use their hidden blades without detection. Louis-Joseph Gaultier, Chevalier de la Verendrye, a French-Canadian captain who helped with smuggling supplies and aiding the Brotherhood’s French allies. And Liam O’Brien, Achilles's heir to the Brotherhood and the best shooter among them. He was also my best friend.”

Connor turned, tipping his head back and allowing Shay for the first time to see his full face unhidden by shadows. He was certainly the Grand Master’s son; their facial structures were near identical, though he must have his mother’s coloring in both skin and eyes. And his mother’s nose. The boy’s gaze was cool and assessing, not yet condemning but not believing either. Shay continued his tale.

“In 1752, the Master Assassin Adéwalé came to the homestead. The Templar Laurence Washington had stolen two items from a brother after an earthquake in Port-au-Prince. They sent me to kill Washington, a dying man who no longer had the items in question. And damn me, but I did it - wanting to be trusted, to earn my place in the Brotherhood. Then I sought out Samuel Smith and James Wardrop too, killing them and reclaiming the items, which together showed certain Precursor Sites. I recognized one being a convent in Lisbon.

“So, Achilles sent me to Lisbon, where I was to retrieve the Piece of Eden. The moment I touched the item it crumbled to dust, causing the earth to tremble and shake. The city fell around me as I made my way towards the harbor. It felt like I could hear every cry, every scream as the people died in the Earthquake that _I_ caused.”

It was only the salt of the sea on the breeze, sound of song on the wind, and the bite of the chill in the air that kept Shay’s mind in the present, though the rocking of the ocean felt like heaving earth. The engraved wood of the wheel, worn soft with time, further helped Shay remember that he wasn’t in Lisbon anymore.

Shay turned to look right at Connor, whose impassive facade had cracked, showing darkness. Not like Haytham’s darkness that showed when he devised a devious plan to get his way. Rather like a man seeing truths that had been hidden from him for years but that he was not ready to acknowledge.

“That’s why I’m not an Assassin any longer. They _knew_ there was something strange about the Precursor Sites when one caused an earthquake in Port-au-Prince and they sent me anyways. They made me forsake the creed and now the blood of all those people stains my hands.”

“If there are problems with the Brotherhood it is our duty as assassins to change it from within. Not leave it and join the enemies.” Connor said, voice low and harsh.

Shay gripped the wheel tighter to stop the trembling in his hands from showing, feeling the familiar pounding of blood in his ears. “I _didn’t_ plan on joining the Templars! Ay, I betrayed the Brotherhood, but on that cliff at the Homestead I would have gladly _died_ rather than let them have the item back. It was not the assassin’s who taught me how to help people, to rebuild, but the Templar's and they had asked nothing of me in return!”

Shay took a steadying breath, then a second one, trying to cool his temper. “I knew what Colonel Monro was from the moment I met him, he wore the Templar Cross on his uniform plain as day, but he never asked me to go against my conscious. Any task he asked of me I was free to refuse, but he only asked me to remove gang influence, help with reconstruction efforts, and save people.”

“What about the Templar goals? Order, direction, purpose. How did these tasks Monro gave you fit into that?” Connor asked, and for the first time Shay thought he might have a chance at reaching the boy.

“The gangs caused chaos and strife, extorting the people and disturbing the peace for the average citizens, demanding protection money.  Eliminate them and the districts are safer, the citizens left in peace. By rebuilding I can improve communities. A lighthouse provides direction for a ship at sea, a silo gives a farm purpose, and church provides a place for community to gather. And the people I save continue serving a purpose that they choose, instead of being forced to follow a cause.”

“And now the British do the same thing that the gangs once did, destroying homes and businesses, forcing people into work they do not believe in.” Connor said, stepping away from the railing and gesturing at the world with both his arms. “Your order is a temporary state, crushed by men seeking power.”

“No, this chaos of which you speak comes from men who use their power over others for selfish gains. An ordered world would work like a well-crafted crew. Order, direction, and purpose as you said. That is the type of world your father envisions. Or do you allow your crew members to do whatever they wish whenever they wish? Face it, the only freedom that grants peace is the freedom from want.” Shay said, gripping the wheel even tighter, knuckles turning white.

“I will hear no more of this.” Connor said, raising a hand in a dismissive gesture and turning away. He took only a minute to decide where to go, before ascending the mast and placing himself at the very top.

Shay followed Connor with his eyes, and when it was apparent the Assassin was not going anywhere, turned to look back at the water and the crew. Either the boy would consider Shay’s words or he would not, all they could do now was wait.

 

  
A few hours after Shay and Connor had left the cabin, Haytham decided he’d had enough of writing letters and writing in his journal and stepped outside the cabin. The sun was near it’s peak in the winter sky, and no doubt they would be nearing Virginia soon enough. Gist and Shay were behind him, at the helm from their voices. But where was Connor?

Haytham turned, climbing the stairs, confirming with his eyes what his ears had heard. “Gentlemen,” he said, nodding to the two of them as they looked his way. “Have either of you seen Connor?”

“Ay, sir, his at the top of the mast.” Shay said, pointing up. Indeed, there was a shadow there slightly larger than normal, though hard to make out with the placement of the sun. Strategic. “Not sure how well our talk went since he’s been up there for some time now.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Gist said, “boys at that age tend to have strong spirits and just take a little longer to be shown the right path.”

“Got experience with that, do ya?” Shay asked, taking one hand and the wheel to shove at his first mate, grinning.

“Never mind that for now,” Haytham said, watching as the two regained their composure. “Captain, any sign of the _Welcome_ or our destination for this evening?”

“No sir. We’ve no way of knowing what time she left, we’ve just got to hope that the Morrigan can catch up to her before she sells off those supplies. As for land, we’re still a few hours away.”

“Very well. Perhaps I can convince my son to take a walk around deck with me.” Haytham said, turning towards the stairs.

“If you don’t mind me saying,” Gist spoke up, “perhaps instead of speak to the boy about the Order, you might consider other topics.”

“What would you suggest, Master Gist?” Haytham asked, gestured with a dramatic flourish of his right hand.

“Family, perhaps. It seemed to me that he wasn’t took keen on sharing your last name. It might be an olive branch to the boy.”

“I’ll consider it, Master Gist.” Haytham said, and continued on, using the pulley system to raise himself most of the way up the mast.

“Come to spread more lies and propaganda about your Order into my ears?” Connor called down, no doubt having heard the pulley.

“Actually, Connor, I came to ask if you wanted to take a walk around the deck with me. I cannot grantee that we won’t speak of Assassins and Templars, as they are a considerable part of our lives, but we could focus our conversation on other things.”

“What else is there to talk about so long as we are opposed in our ideals?”

“Family, for one. You never did relay what Ziio had said of me.”

“Nothing except that you were a white man.”

“Ah.” Haytham stood silent for a moment, once more feeling the loss of Ziio and what might have been. “Then perhaps you might allow me to tell you of your other family members. Of your grandfather and your aunt.”

There was a beat of silence, leaving Haytham to wonder what Connor was thinking about. “They live?”

“Just your aunt, I’m afraid. She maintains the Kenway family home in Queen Anne’s square in London.”

“Then we are unlikely to ever meet.”

“You could always write to her, and this war will not last forever. Whether the Loyalists or the Patriots win, eventually there will be trade between England and the Americas again. You could visit her then.”

“And what?” Connor scoffed. “Listen to someone else tell me how the Assassins are wrong and only the Templars can do good in the world?”

“You are so determined to think the worst of me that you fail to consider I might have other motives.” Haytham sighed. “Your aunt, Jennifer, has no love for Templars or our cause. She would not turn you away if you were to call on her.”

“I will consider it.”

“If you wish, I will be sending some letters off when we reach Virginia. I could include one from you if you wish.” Haytham offered tentatively.

Once more Connor was silent above, the only sound the waves against the hull, the singing of the crew, and the canvas sails snapping in the wind. Haytham wished he had the ability to pace, or even see Connor’s expression, but he did not want to pressure the boy.

“I would not know what to write.” Connor finally said, voice soft and almost too quiet to be heard. It was the most vulnerable Haytham had heard Connor before, and though he did not know the boy it nearly made his heart ache.

“Well,” Haytham cleared his throat, “I could ask her to write to you. Of course, I’d need a location for her to send her letters for you, if you’d trust me with that.”

“You will not use it to send your Templars after my recruits?” Connor asked, disbelief clear in his voice.

“I swear to you Connor, I will only pass on the information to my sister.”

“She may send me letters at Stephane’s Tavern in Boston.” Connor said finally.

“Very good. Do you have a preference for how she should address the letters, or will Connor Kenway suffice?”

Connor made a sound that was part protest, part indignation. “Connor is fine. It has been enough for the colonists and the settlers.” A beat of silence between them. “Do you wish for me to take your last name, even though I am an Assassin?”

“I will not deny you if you wish to use it. In some ways you have a greater claim to it than I do.”

“You speak in riddles, twisting your words to hide your meaning.”

“Apologies. What I mean is that my father, your grandfather, was a well-respected Assassin before his death. I believe that he would be proud of the man you are. Thus, if you don’t want to use the Kenway name because I am a Templar, only consider that it is a name associated with Assassins as well.”

“I will consider it if I need a family name.” Connor said. “If your father was an Assassin how did you come to join the Templars?”

“That,” Haytham looked at the sky and then horizons, “is a long story perhaps for another time. Come, we should see if Captain Cormac and Master Gist could use a couple more hands.”

“I thought that you were going to avoid working since you were financing the voyage.” Connor said, and though Haytham could not see his son’s face, it was easy enough to image a teasing grin reminiscent of Ziio’s. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in under two weeks, holy cats! I think it is the reviews and the kudos that are pushing me along. So thank you and I hope you continue to enjoy.
> 
> That said, I should probably let you know that this fic is unplanned, unwritten, and unbeta-ed. So if my updates slow down that is why. And now you all know why I'm cool with y'all pointing out grammar mistakes or if I switch tenses randomly.


	4. The Virginia Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters are written and read. The Morrigan docks for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haytham, where the heck is your land in Virginia? I probably got this wrong but I don't care!!! 
> 
> Also I've changed some of the tags to reflect matters that will be handled later on.

Captain Cormac and Master Gist were speaking over a map when Connor and Haytham joined them on the quarterdeck. Their shoulders nearly pressed together as Gist held the map and Shay kept one hand on the wheel, holding the _Morrigan_ steady.

“If we make next make port at Fort Pierce we should be able to reach Martinique without any other delays.” Captain Cormac said, tracing the pathway with a finger from his free hand for Gist to follow.

“That’s Spanish territory, that is.” Gist replied. “Will they let us pass or are we going to have to fight our way through?”

“I see no reason why we should fight, Master Gist.” Haytham said, stepping closer to the two other Templars. “We’re doing this for the Patriot cause.”

Connor remained a step back, watching the three of them interact with easy familiarity. Watching his father here, as he interacted with his men, revealed the true side of him that Connor had only glimpsed before. They deferred to Haytham without a word of protest, easily making space for him to join in their conversation.

“Just seems strange, going back to fighting the British and allying with the French and Spanish, is all.” Shay said, returning his gaze to the water and carefully steering the ship into a bay.

“Indeed, Captain, but if this is what it takes for peace than so be it.” Haytham turned to look at the land encroaching around them. “How much longer until we reach Alexandria, Captain?”

“’Bout half an hour, I’d say. If you got any last-minute work to be done, now is the time to do it.”

“I’ve nothing urgent.” Haytham turned to Connor, “Is there anything you need to get done?”

Connor nodded, feeling subconscious under the scrutiny of the three Templars. “I have a few letters I would like to write before we make port.” Connor said evenly, not giving away how important he felt the letters to be.

“You’re welcome to my cabin and its resources, lad.” Captain Cormac said, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Your father makes use of them as he desires.”

Gist made a sound like a restrained laugh but sobered up under Haytham’s glare.

Captain Cormac continued without a single glance at his first mate. “I only ask that you not snoop in my private affairs.”

Connor nodded in understanding before departing down the stairs and into the cabin without another word. It was difficult to resist the urge to give the cabin a more thorough study. The weapons, the maps, the model of the Morrigan, even the chest of clothes left partially open stirred Connor’s curiosity. They would have to wait. For now, it would be better to write to Achilles and Avaline so they would not worry.

The desk at the back of the cabin was neatly organized, all supplies in the top drawers. No doubt his father’s doing. Settled, Connor began writing.

_Aveline,_  
_May this letter find you in good health as I have heard nothing from New Orleans for some time. I write to you from Virginia so my words might reach you faster than any rumors. I have formed a temporary alliance with my father, Haytham Kenway – Grand Master of the Colonial Right – while we hunt down the Templar Benjamin Church. My father claims that Church has betrayed the Order. We shall see._

_To accomplish our goals, we have set sail with two other Templars. Captain Shay Cormac and Master Christopher Gist of the_ Morrigan _. They know my father from before and have no issue working under his command, but Achilles has never mentioned them. I can only conclude that Achilles believed them dead. Had he known they lived, I trust he would have warned me for Cormac is a former student of his._

_I will be unavailable during our pursuit of Church but should you discover any additional information do not hesitate to send it to the homestead. Achilles will pass it along to myself, or others if the need should arise. I will write to him as well._

_Do not worry for me. I am in no physical danger. They have shown their hands, the wish to turn me against the Brotherhood and join the Templars. When we parted, you asked if I ever doubted the means and ways of the Brotherhood. My answer has not changed. The ways and the means of the Order, though my father professes to seek peace, relies on control and forced loyalty. It cannot be trusted, and I will not be blinded by pretty words._

_Safety and peace to you, Sister._

 

That letter penned and set aside, Connor began his second letter. One much shorter and factual.

 _Achilles,_  
_Benjamin Church has stolen supplies from the patriots. I am in pursuit of him. Accompanying me is my father, Haytham Kenway, and two other Templars. Their names are Shay Cormac and Christopher Gist. We set sail between January 26 and January 27 aboard the_ Morrigan _. They have made no attempts to harm me. I will remain vigilant._  
_Connor._

Both letters finished, Connor moved, stretching the muscles in his shoulders and hands. Waiting for the ink to dry, Connor read over the letters one last time before deciding them to be satisfactory. Nodding, he folded them, sealed them using wax, and returned top side.

The ship was in the process of docking. Captain Cormac was calling out orders to be repeated by Gist, but Haytham was standing, watching the ship be tugged into the dock.

“Connor, come here a moment?” Though it was phrased like a command Haytham’s tone implied it was more of a suggestion. Still, with nothing else to do, Connor approached his father, drawing even with the man instead of standing behind him. Haytham held out two envelopes.

“What are these?” Connor asked, even as he took them and looked them over. One was addressed to Jennifer Scott in London, the other to Charles Lee.

“I thought that was obvious, they’re letters. Since you will be sending your own I hoped you might be good enough to send out mine as well.”

“I am not your errand boy.” Connor glared at his father.

“Of course not.” Haytham said, and smirked. “Very well. If you hand over your letters I’ll have one of my people send them off with my post.” He held out his hand.

Connor took a step to the side, holding Haytham’s letters closer. “Never mind, I’ll send them. But do not think you can keep ordering me around like one of your men.”

Haytham turned away but Connor caught his low pitched, “that much is apparent.” His next comment was clearer. “I’ve an estate on the outskirts of the city, you’ll find me there when you’re done.”

Recognizing when he had been dismissed, Connor jumped over the railing onto one of the posts by the dock.

“And Connor,” Haytham called, “while I don’t mind if you read the letter to your aunt, please avoid reading the one to Charles. I’m trusting you.”

Those words ringing in his ears, Connor took off, searching for a tall structure to climb in order to orient himself in the new city. He found a church on North Washington Street built with red bricks and a white bell tower to suit his purpose. There, with the city spread out below him, he pulled out Haytham’s letters.

His fingers itched to open the one to Charles Lee. Was his father writing about their alliance in finding Church? Sending new orders for Lee to carry out while Connor was gone from Boston and New York, too far to change things if Lee decided to kill Washington as Hickey was meant to do several years ago. Or perhaps reassuring Lee that Connor would not be a problem for the Order any longer. He was the only Assassin on a ship with at least three Templars and they were sailing for a fourth. It could all easily be a set up to kill Connor, though unlikely. Whatever the case, surely there was some important knowledge to gain from the letter.

At the same time, Connor did not think he could resist acting on the knowledge he might gain from the letter, whatever that knowledge might be. And while there was little trust between father and son, Connor did not want to be the one to destroy their alliance, new as it was.

So, Connor set aside that letter, and carefully opened the one to his aunt.

_Jenny,_  
_I hope this letter finds you undisturbed and in good health. I am sorry that I did not sent you a letter for the holidays, as they passed by me completely unremarked upon. This year, however, I might have good tidings at last. While one of my men has betrayed the Order and me, he is the tool to bringing my son and I together._

_I had heard nothing of my son since that day in June I let my blood sentiments over-rule reason and spared him the hangman’s noose. I had suspected he aided in the crossing of the Delaware, but it is unconfirmed. But now we are aligned in our goal of finding Benjamin Church, though for different reasons. I can only hope he spent his down time teaching his students to be better archers. I’d hate to compromise myself a second time for a lad who hates me._

_I do not blame him, for he has revealed why he hates Charles Lee and the Templars so much. The day his village burned down and his mother died, he had been beaten and choked by Charles probably only minutes before the attack started. This cruelty, not just of my son but of a child, is what made me despise the old order before. And now it has made an enemy that will see my life’s work undone._

_I hope that by traveling with Christopher Gist and Shay Cormac, Connor might come to see that not all Templars are evil. Though they are not my men they are some of the best Templars I know, having been brought into the Order by George Monro – who managed the Rite while I was in Europe searching for you. In them lies care for all people, conviction of a greater purpose, and a desire for peace._

_Did I ever tell you about how the relationship between Ziio and I ended? After the Braddock Expedition I spent several weeks on the Frontier living with her in the ways of her people. Not with her people, she refused to show me where their village was, just with her. And then Charles Lee came with news from Holden and revealed that Braddock, though he died from wounds I inflicted, had not died under my watch._

_Ziio – rightfully – saw this as a breach of our agreement and sent me away. I did not fight it as hard as I wanted because I knew I had to leave anyways. I could have sought her out upon my return but, since she had sent me away, I wanted to respect her wishes. If I had a chance to change anything about my time with her, it I would gladly watch Braddock's last breath leave him instead of rushing off with the job half finished. But regret does not serve any purpose except to make men idle._

_Still, this expedition to find Church and make him pay has given me an opportunity to connect with my son in a way that I had not thought possible before. And perhaps, with us, we might find peace between our two orders._

_Take care, sister._  
_Haytham_

And there, written at the bottom not with ink like the rest of the paper but with the graphite known as a pencil, was a post script.

_I have talked to my son about you but he will not write you first as he wouldn’t know what to say. If you wish to write to him, only send it to Stephane’s Tavern in Boston. We have yet to speak of Birch and the effect he had on our family, but I don’t imagine I can avoid the topic for long. I will only tell him the barest details of what you endured. If you wish him to know more, that is your prerogative._

Curious, and mostly unsatisfied, Connor set off to find a post shop.

 

“I’m sorry to arrive without warning.” Haytham said, taking off his capes and handing them to the head matron of the household while his butler stands ready for instruction. The staff, though they have not seen Haytham for some months, are remarkably organized. Already he can hear footsteps above as his bedroom and study are aired out. “I had not realized I would be in Virginia until I was already on the ship leaving New York.”

“It’s quite alright, Master Kenway.” Elizabeth Marston, the matron, replied, hanging up his coat for him. She’s an older woman with a round face and deep wrinkles from a fulfilling and joyful life. She is not the type of person many expect a man as serious as Haytham to employ. Two of the young maids, if Haytham remembers correctly, are her own granddaughters. But here in Virginia it is nice to be reminded that there are simple pleasures available.

“Are you here for work, sir?” Matthew, the butler, asked. He’s a stern looking man, with a straight back and a harsh face from the life he endured before Haytham hired him on.

“In a way. My companions and I are traveling towards Martinique, we’re should just be here for the evening.” Haytham said, moving towards the downstairs parlor that held a small writing desk, two armchairs, a divan, and a small bookcase. “If you would, Mrs. Marston, have two additional bedrooms made up?”

“Of course, sir.” She said, dipping in a quick curtsey and taking her leave.

“Will your guests be joining us for supper, sir?” Matthew asked, standing in the door way as Haytham looked though his mail.

“They shall. Please insure the cook knows to make up four dinners.”

“Four, sir?”

“One of them will not be spending the night but I’ve offered him supper none the less.” Matthew nodded in understanding and moved to leave Haytham to his own devices. “Oh, and I expect they will come stumbling in when they are ready and not in an orderly fashion. Please ensure that they are well taken care of.”

“Of course, sir.” He left, leaving Haytham to go through the letters and papers on his writing desk.

Nothing pressing, though two letters should be answered before their voyage in the morning incase of delays. One flier calling for colonists to take up arms. And a letter from Jenny, recently arrived but not yet sent further North.

He sat and opened that one first.

_Haytham,_  
_I’ve delayed this letter for some time at the request of one of your men. It’s much harder to track a man when his trail is several months old. If the assassins knew he visited me, they have not come asking questions. Shay Cormac, whoever he is to the orders, should be safely hidden by now._

_Do not be surprised that I have guessed his conflicting nature. He moves like an Assassin when he wants to, but also like a Templar. And though they are called hidden blades for a reason, they are obvious if you know where to look._

_He did not tell me much, only that he was in Europe on your request looking for something. And he did not ask much, though he did ask. Apparently, Templars in France, Germany, and Belgium are all curious about the death of Reginald Birch during our visit to him and the death of Edward Braddock. Why they are investigating now remains a mystery, and what they plan to do is unclear. If you want more information, speak to your man about it._

_I do not like him, this Cormac of yours, but if you must send an agent of yours to me, send him. He is tolerable, having suffered a great deal, and there is still kindness in him. I hope he helps you remember mercy, especially when dealing with your son. Your last letter barely hinted at the peace you wanted between the two orders. I hope you remember that dream still, foolish as it might be._

_I will not write again before the new year begins. If you get this letter in time, Happy Holidays. I hope in the coming year you might achieve at least one goal._  
_Jennifer_

The letter, like many Haytham had gotten from her over the years, caused conflict in him. Joy that she had seen the many good qualities in Shay, and shame she did not see those qualities in him. She was not wrong in her assessment though. The loss of Madeleine de L’Isle of the Louisiana Rite at the hands of her stepdaughter had given Haytham a bleaker outlook on his relationship with Connor especially before they had properly met.

Truth, the virtue that it seemed no man or woman in the order was capable of practicing, seemed to be weapons of their own designs. Even now Haytham wanted nothing more than to lay out the many secrets he had from Connor, but that would not create trust between them. But the truth of his own father, Jennifer, Reginald, and Shay all could serve as examples to Connor.

There was a knock on the door. It was Matthew with Shay just behind him.

“Thank you, Matthew.” Haytham said, standing as Shay was admitted into the room. “Please let us know when our other guests arrive.” Matthew nodded in understanding, leaving the two Templars alone.

“Gist is still with the _Morrigan_ over seeing our sales of tobacco and the loading of our new supplies. He should be along in the hour.”

“Very good, Shay.” Haytham said, gesturing for the younger man to take a seat in one of the arm chairs. Haytham took the other one. “I wanted to speak to you alone anyways. I have here,” Haytham waved the letter lightly, “a letter from my sister. She mentions you in it.”

A look of alarm crosses Shay’s face. “If I’ve upset her, sir, that was not my intention.”

Haytham held up his free hand for silence. “That’s not it at all, Shay. She actually spoke quite favorably of you in fact. There are just a few matters that concern me. First being why you went to visit her in the first place.”

“I figured it would be prudent to leave Paris and France as quickly as possible after I found the Box, and after making my way to London I felt curious about they place where you grew up.” Shay said, leaning back a bit more comfortably. “That, and I had heard the Kenway Mansion was to be neutral ground from now on.”

“You’re lucky no one decided to break that truce chasing after you.”

“I make my own luck, sir.” Shay replied with a grin in response to Haytham’s unamused look.

“She also mentioned that there are questions being asked about the deaths of Reginald Birch and Edward Braddock.”

“Aye. They questioned me about Braddock, about it not being an Assassin who killed him as they were informed.”

“How did you answer these questions, Shay?”

“Told them the truth, sir. That Braddock was a target for the assassins, and a member of the Brotherhood was from one of the tribes that helped in the Expedition, but I was too busy preparing to leave for Lisbon to know what exactly went down.”

Haytham felt the corners of his lips pull up in a smile. “Good. And when they asked about Reginald?”

“Said it was before I knew you and we’d never spoken of the man. Then they asked if I though you were capable of killing them.” Haytham raised an eyebrow but did not interrupt Shay. “I said you were capable of killing anyone if given a reason. That perhaps if they were worried about you killing other Templars they might examine what purpose you would have to do so and change.”

“Thank you for your frank words, Shay.” Haytham said. At that moment there was another knock, revealing Matthew, Gist, and Connor.

“Supper is served, Sir.” Matthew said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos hits and comments from last chapter, they give me life. <3<3<3<3
> 
> Don't expect a quick update for the next chapter, I'm going house hunting on Thurdsay/Friday and don't expect to have much writing time until next Monday.


	5. Untold Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shay muses on the supper before turning it into a disaster.
> 
> Connor tries to have a decent conversation with his father, but Lee is like a wedge between the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long delay! The apartment hunting trip went well, except for the fit of depression I fell into right after it, and then the characters kept fighting me every step of the way as I wrote this.

Supper was not going well. A blind man could see how uncomfortable Connor was with the situation. The lad was trying to put on a good show, however his body betrayed him. His back was too straight and his shoulders tense, causing his every movement to be sharp and jarring. The oppressive silence was unlikely to help matters.

By contrast, the Grandmaster was perfectly at ease here in his own household. A landed gentleman with raised with aristocratic sensibilities and manors. Shay glanced over at Haytham, noting the ease by which he wielded his silverware, no less elegantly than he wielded a sword. It spoke of years of training and practice.

Even Gist and himself, both simple men, were more at ease than Connor.

And why not? The Order often used meals as a means to connect with other members. Meetings between Grand Masters were often formal affairs, large dinner parties with sympathizers or possible allies in attendance. And each Grand Master had a preference for how they met with their men, as Shay had seen in his travels. Most preferred to host their men for supper, either discussing business at the meal or after when retiring for drinks. Few made use of eating houses and inns as Haytham did.

Monro, not having a home in New York, had often made use of the Finnegan’s hospitality to call upon Shay. That, or impose himself upon Shay’s hospitality at Fort Arsenal.

Even when there was not work for the Order to be discussed, being invited for dinner, supper, or even tea was not uncommon. Aye, outsiders and Assassins might see such events as shows of wealth, but it was merely hospitality. How often had Shay been invited to dine with Order members he barely knew in his travels? And asked at those tables not about his work but about his journeys and goals?

This was another matter in which Assassins and Templars differed. The Assassins rarely took time to connect with each other outside of business.

The homestead’s dinning room, Shay remembers, was little more than a war room for the Assassin’s to convene in. Mostly they would grab supper from the kitchen or make it themselves. Meals in the dinning room were reserved for the holidays or special occasions. Even that was reduced to just holidays after Abigail and little Connor passed away. Which reminded Shay . . .

“Connor is the name Achille’s gave you, isn’t it?” Shay asked, startling his dinner companions. No doubt they had been focusing on their food to avoid engaging in awkward and stifled conversation.

Connor nodded slowly. “It is. Achilles did not wish to try saying the name my mother gave me.”

“That was foolish of him.” Haytham said, lightly resting his wrists on the edge of the table. “He should have at least tried to say your name.”

Connor looked straight at Haytham, chin raised in defiance. “The name my people know me by, the name my mother gave me, is Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

Shay glanced at Haytham out of the corner of his eye and saw Gist do the same. Haytham’s lips were drawn tight, face closed off. “I see,” Haytham said slowly. “Rado – I’m sorry, what was it again?”

“You can just call me Connor, Father. It is how I am known by _your_ people after all.”

The tension in the room has returned tenfold. Shay, seated across from Gist, sees the other man glancing between father in son as the two glared at each other.

“Ratonhnhaké:ton, was it?” Shay asked, once more breaking the tension, and turning to face Connor completely. The boy’s face showed both his curiosity and suspicion. “Do you know why Achilles gave you the name Connor?”

“It is a name he knows well.” Connor replied evenly.

“It’s the name of his dead son.” Shay said. “Suspicious of him to choose that of all names for you. Did he know whose son you were when he gave it to you?”

Connor narrowed his eyes, all traces of curiosity gone. “What do you seek with this line of questioning?”

“I believe,” Haytham interrupted, drawing all gazes to him, “Captain Cormac is asking if Achilles named you Connor in order to replace me as a parental figure in your mind.”

Connor glared at his father though Haytham’s face remained calm and impassive. “You have hardly been a parental, _Father_.” Connor said, the last word sarcastic as he sneered at his father.

“That’s hardly my fault, now is it?” Haytham asked in response, retuning to his meal.

Gist cleared his throat, drawing the attention of Connor. Shay shot him a grateful look but returned to his meal like Haytham. “Connor, you’re a skilled hunter, aren’t you, lad?”

“I am.” Connor said calmly. If he was grateful for the change in topic Shay couldn’t hear it in his voice.

“Splendid. Perhaps after this business with Church you and the Captain could go hunting sometime. I’m afraid these old bones just can’t keep up with him. It would be good for him to struggle keeping up with someone for once.” Gist said, grinning at Shay when making the crack about his age.

“I’m only forty-five Gist, still in my prime.” Shay said, offended that his first mate would betray him so. Shay turned to Connor. “Don’t let this old dog fool you, he was 48 when he took part in Braddock Expedition.”

Connor, for some reason, glanced at Haytham.

“I even saved old George from having his face beat in by a native woman!” Gist laughed, before turning to Haytham.  He did not see Connor glare at him. “I swear didn’t harm her at all, sir, just scared her off him.”

Haytham nodded, laying down his silverware once more. “I am well aware. Ziio was none the worse for wear when we met up later that evening.”

“You knew the woman, sir?” Gist asked slowly.  No doubt he was trying to make sense of this revelation the same as Shay was,  

“Why did my Mother punch George Washington?” Connor asked at the same time. Gist turned to stare at Connor as if seeing him for the first time.

“Washington took offence to my attack on Braddock.” Haytham said calmly. Though the Grand Master kept his face neutral his dark eyes flashed in the candle light. Suddenly Shay was reminded that the Grand Master was a trained killer and a skill swordsman. No doubt he felt secure in being able to share this dark knowledge with Shay and Gist unopposed. “Ziio took offence to Washington’s attack on me, a distraction that allowed me to land the fatal blow on Braddock.”

“I thought Georgie had just been hit too hard in the head, when he said there was British traitor.” Gist said slowly.

“Oh, there was no traitor in the British Troops, though I wore the uniform of one. I came to the Colonies tasked with finding a Precursor Site known as the Store Room, our main lead being this key here.” Haytham said, pulling out the amulet he wore around his neck, the same one he showed Shay many years ago. Haytham passed it to Gist, who only looked at it briefly before handing it over to Connor.

“These are Kanien’kehá:ka markings.” Connor said suspiciously, examining the artifact. Haytham tilted his head forward in acknowledgement. “This Store Room, that is the Precursor Site my village protects?”

“Indeed, though it does not open to the key as we had suspected. Make no mistake, Ziio did not simply take me to the site. She had asked in assistance ridding her people of Edward Braddock before taking me there.”

“Which you failed to do.” Connor said shortly, sliding the item across the table to Haytham after Shay refused it.

“I did not fail, Connor, I simply did not complete the task to your mother’s satisfaction.” Haytham said, once more placing the amulet around his neck. “Though Braddock was a Templar I had believed him an enemy to our cause, much like Church is now.”

“And, what, Father, makes one an enemy to the Templar Cause?” Connor asked.

Haytham looked at the clock on the mantle, “Perhaps some other time. It’s getting late. Master Gist, I assume you’ll be returning to the Morrigan?”

“That’s right sir.” Gist replied.  Shay could not tell what Gist was feeling about hearing all of this. 

Braddock had been one of the worst sorts.  The type of British soldier that made Shay's blood boil, and had been a mark for the brotherhood though they hadn't yet stuck him down before Shay left for Lisbon.  After Lisbon, after leaving the assassins, Shay simply hadn't bothered to ask about the man and Monro had said nothing of him.  But if Gist had been there, with his friend Washington he might have a different opinion about the deceased Templar.  When they were back on the ship Shay would make some time for his friend. 

“Connor, Captain Cormac, I’ve taken the liberty of having rooms made up for you for the night.” Haytham said, rising from the table. Shay and Gist followed suit, with Connor rising last. “Captain, please come see me before you retire.”  Shay nodded in understanding. 

With that, Haytham left the room signaling an end to the terrible supper.

  
Connor stood steady at the helm, feeling the biting cold of the winter wind slap against his face, waking him up even more.

His morning had begun before sunrise as normal, though waking up in the strange room his father had given him had been disorienting. It had been a simple room, but still more elegant than the manor at the Davenport Homestead. And without his bedroll Connor had been forced to sleep in the bed, which had been softer than he was used to. Clearly his father was used to comfort, another difference that divided the two of them.

Still, instead of having to wait for his father to rise as Connor had expected, Haytham had risen early, coming down the stairs with Captain Cormac only a quarter hour after Connor had descended the same stairs. Haytham had spoken briefly with the housekeeper and butler, before the three of them were headed back to the docks in silence.

Now, as the sun was rising over the Atlantic, Connor was able to feel a bit more at home in the elements. Mister Faulkner’s presence was missed, as was Connor’s crew, but it seemed sailors were the same whether they worked under an assassin or a templar. They took Connor’s orders easily enough as they sang “Leave Her Johnny” to pass the time and keep in rhythm.

“Everything alright here, lad?” Captain Cormac asked as he joined Connor on the quarterdeck.

“Everything is fine.” Connor replied.

Connor observed the captain from the corner of his eye, taking in his relaxed and open posture. The man was not as easy to read as some of the people Connor had met before, but not as difficult as his father was. He’d been closed off and angry when speaking of the brotherhood, curious when posing questions at supper the night before, and guarded when Haytham had brought out the amulet.

One hand slipped unconsciously into the pocket where he kept the precursor ring, rolling it around with his fingers.  What would he think and say about it?

“Good lad. I’ll take the wheel for now. No doubt you have questions for your father.” Captain Cormac said, stepping in when Connor released the wheel.

Connor nodded in acknowledgement and thanks, leaving the captain to his ship for now.

There were many things Connor wanted to ask his father. Some small part of him wanted his father’s acceptance and approval. It wanted Connor to demand Haytham speak plainly about how he felt about his assassin son. Sometimes, like yesterday on the mast, they could be civil and open to each other. And then one of them always said something that caused conflict, and Connor did not know how to prevent that.

In a way, it was like speaking with Achilles. Connor wanted a better relationship with the man but the words needed for that were beyond his grasp. And even if they weren’t, both Achilles and Haytham seemed to demand something from Connor but were unwilling to say what. Except what Achilles wanted was for Connor to kill his father.

“Connor.” Haytham acknowledged when Connor came through the door of the cabin, even as he kept writing. “Did you need something?”

He looked tired and stressed, despite seeming well earlier when they departed from his land in Virginia. Did he not travel well, or was there some matter weighing on his mind?

“I wanted to ask more about the Templar Order.” Connor said, taking a quick glance around the cabin to see if there was another chair. There was not. Only the single bed and the bench of cushions covered in books to sit upon.

Haytham sighed and placed the stopper in the ink pot, closing the journal on the quill to mark his spot. “You understand that I cannot answer every question about the Order that you might have, don’t you?”

“I do,” Connor said, nodding. Connor wondered how much about the Assassin’s his father knew. He spoke well, as if he knew much about them.

“Very well,” Haytham said, standing and moving over to the bed. “Take a seat and we’ll see what information I can share with you.”

Connor took the offered seat as Haytham sat on the bed. “I wish to know how the Order is structured. You mentioned to my aunt that Gist and Cormac are not your men, yet you command them as if they were.”

“As members of the Colonial Rite, though I imagine we’ll soon be changing our name to the American Rite, they owe me loyalty as it’s Grand Master, just as any assassins owe loyalty to your mentor Achilles. However, I do not consider them a part of my inner circle. Both were loyal to George Monro before his passing, Gist having been inducted by him before I came to the colonies.

“Once a Templar reaches the rank of Master Templar they are allowed to sponsor their own recruits to the Order. Recruits are called to be loyal to both their sponsors and their Grand Masters, with only the Grand Master having the authority to release them from the rite. Both are Gist and Cormac are now free agents of the Templar Order. Any Grand Master might call upon them for their services, though the opportunity for that is far apart, and as Master Templars they have the right to refuse orders. Though not without consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?”

“That depends on who they refused. Reginald, being the Grand Master of the British Rite also had a say in the Colonial Rite before his passing. It was his command that Edward Braddock release Pitcairn and Lee into my service. He refused to release Pitcairn, so we forced his hand. He could either release Pitcairn or be humiliated in front of his troops. I imagine if Shay refused any Grand Master’s on his travel he might have found his tasks more difficult without information.”

Connor thought on these words and considered them. So far, the two orders seemed very similar in how they were run. The practice of trading assistance for information dated back to before Altaïr. And Connor’s allies in New York had come at the command of Achilles, despite them never working with the man. When Avaline's search had brought her north, she sought Achille's permission first before acting.

“Achilles says that the Templars seek Pieces of Edan known as Apples that have the ability to control the minds of men.”  Connor said, turning the conversation to a matter that had been weighing on Connor's mind for some time. 

“Many do. These Apples would ensure control and order, but it is foolish to rely on them. It seems every time a Templar finds one, the Assassins rise up and remove them from the world. No, it is better to seek Order through law and policy. Use of these precursor items are for fools too weak in their principles to commit and command.”

“You would not use one, even if you had the opportunity?” Connor asked, genuinely curious about his father’s answer.

Haytham was quiet a moment, before rising and going to the other part of the cabin, observing the model of the Morrigan. “I won’t lie, the idea of using one has merit. It would certainly make certain endeavors easier. But no, best not risk it. Of my own free will, I will not use an Apple even if one comes into my possession.”

“What about Charles Lee?”

Haytham turned to Connor, studying him. Charles Lee might forever be a point of contention between them, but Connor had to know. His father’s words were a small comfort when Lee was his second in command.

“It’s not a conversation we’ve ever had, I’m afraid.” Haytham said calmly. “I do know that if Reginald and Braddock were still alive, they would not have hesitated to use the Apples.”

“You mentioned Reginald Birch in the letter to my aunt but have yet to explain his importance.”

Haytham sighed, returning to sit once more upon the bed. “It is a long and complicated story, so I ask you not to interrupt until I am finished. He had been employed by my father as a senior property manager. On the night before my tenth birthday he arranged for the house to be attacked, my father killed, his journal stolen, and my sister taken by Turkish Slavers. Afterwards he took over my studies in the pretense of helping me look for Jenny. When I was in my twenties I learned my father had been an Assassin, not a Templar, but I had not realized Birch was behind the attack on the house until I rescued Jenny. When we confronted him, he placed a blade to her throat, but she managed to shove him against my sword, which was still in the door from where I had stabbed a guard.”

“This man lied to you, killed and threatened your family, and yet you still follow the Templar Order?”

“Of course, I do, Connor. I have studied the assassins, their creeds and tenants, and I have found them lacking.” Haytham stood and paced the cabin. “Question everything, take responsibility for your actions, practice mercy, don’t draw attention: all well and good but they mean nothing if you do not have a goal to work towards. Peace, through order, justice, and equality is the goal I seek. A peace that can last for centuries if it could just be obtained, where one man is no longer free to prey upon another.”

“You speak well, father, but your actions betray you. Twice now I have seen you take a life needlessly. Have you not then preyed upon them, determining it easier to forego mercy for murder?” Connor asked, rising from his seat. Thinking of the men, it made Connor sick how easily his father could take a life outside of battle. How much slaughter must one see and commit to act with such ease?

Haytham sighed. “Everything is permitted, so long as you are willing to accept the consequences of your actions. So, tell me Connor, what should my consequence be for killing two of Benjamin Church’s men? Nothing may be done to restore them, but I suppose I can look to see if they have family in need of compensation.”

“Do not twist the creed to suit your purpose, old man. A life cannot be reduced to a monetary amount.” Connor said, clenching his fists in anger.

“Your friend Washington seems to believe differently.” Haytham asked, turning to meet Connor’s gaze.

“Washington is not my friend, he is the leader the people chose. To remove him from power is to invalidate their power and deny them their rights.” Connor protested, knowing Haytham would not be swayed anymore now than he had been on that church roof.

“Rights that only the privileged few have. Tell me, Connor, have these patriots of yours promised to free the slaves that fight for them? Or to free the ones unable to do so?” He arched one of his eyebrows, and Connor felt his anger rising, his muscles tensing and his blood pounding.

“Would Charles Lee make such promises?” Connor asked, stepping forward. “You mock my alliance with the patriots when some are slave owners, but William Johnson was a slave owner as well. And Lee has no love for my people. He believes us to be nothing!”

“Back to Lee again?” Haytham asked, sounding bored by the change in conversation.

“He killed my Mother, I can neither forgive nor forget that!”

“You are biased, Connor. You mind has equated seeing Lee before the attack on your village with Lee being the one to destroy it, but that is not the truth. Lee harmed you as a child, yes, and for that he should be reprimanded. But I will not let you slaughter him for a crime he did not commit.”

Haytham was clever, using Connor’s own account to justify his protection of Lee. But he had learned of the attack on the village from Connor’s own mouth, he could not know for certain that Lee had not lead the attack. Haytham might not have commanded his men that day, but they had been there, searching for Connor’s village and for knowledge the elders had.

“You speak in his defense, but what proof can you offer to support these claims? You were not there in the forest that day, you cannot possibly know what he did or did not do!”

“Then when we return to New York we must simply seek out the truth. Perhaps your Commander Washington will know something about it.” Haytham said, throwing his shoulder’s back and arms wide as if the idea had just occurred to him. He was planning something, though Connor could not figure out what his plan was except to find a way to turn Connor against the patriot cause.

“You’ve shown your hand, Father,” Connor said with more bravado than he felt. “But I will not be lead astray. I know I serve the right cause.” With that, Connor shoved passed his protesting father and out of the cabin, slamming the door to it behind him.

Out in the cold ocean breeze, Connor felt his hands start to tremble. He wanted something to do with his hands, some way to release these feelings pent up inside him. But there was nothing. These sailors were not his men, the captain and the first mate strangers, and his own father . . .

There was, perhaps a sliver of hope. If his father spoke true about giving up on Precursor items, and if Connor could convince him to remove his protection from Lee, the two of them might have a chance. But not if his father insisted on supporting the British Crown. There was merit to the idea of influencing policy for freedom. Maybe what was needed was Assassins and Templars working together, balancing each other out.

Connor leaned back against the cabin and let out a mournful sigh. If Achilles was there, he would be calling Connor’s hope foolish and naïve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that killed me. I hope that the next one doesn't take as long, but honestly it probably will. Doesn't help this chapter is close to 3700 words long.


End file.
